


wax on, wax off

by squadrickchestopher



Series: Filthy Porn Fridays [6]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Dom Bucky Barnes, Fluff and Smut, Light Dom/sub, M/M, POV Bucky Barnes, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Restraints, Sub Clint Barton, Wax Play, use of colors as safe words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:35:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26975980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squadrickchestopher/pseuds/squadrickchestopher
Summary: Tony mutters something about them being impossible, and leaves. Clint flops onto the couch and sprawls on top of Bucky.“So,” he says, turning himself so his head and shoulders are in Bucky’s lap. “Candles?”Or: The One with the Sex Candles.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: Filthy Porn Fridays [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860367
Comments: 12
Kudos: 113
Collections: Clintucky Fried Bunnies, Thwip & Hari's Kinktober '20





	wax on, wax off

**Author's Note:**

> thanks Harishe for the title *insert fingerguns emoji*
> 
> Mixing Filthy Porn Friday with a discord mini Kinktober. Prompt was for "wax play", thanks to thwip and Harishe for hosting this. Much appreciate, and thanks always to my discord friends for cheering me on during the writing. Love you guys!

“What are you doing?”

Clint looks up from where he’s passing his finger through the candle flame burning on the table. “Playing with fire,” he says.

“Why?”

“Because my momma never told me not to?” Clint shows Bucky the line of ash on his skin. “Doesn’t hurt. Just like the feeling.”

“Kinky,” Stark comments as he passes through the lounge, and Clint flips him off.

“I spilled a candle on myself as a kid,” Bucky says. “Hurt like a bitch.”

“You gotta get the fun candles,” Clint says, all knowledgeable. “Regular candles burn too hot.”

“There are fun candles?”

“Future’s a wild place, Bucko.”

“I’ve got some,” Stark says. “If you want.”

Clint makes a face. “I’m not using _your_ sex candles, Tony, that’s disgusting—“

“They’re not _used_ , bird brain, Steve and I got some for—”

“Absolutely not,” Bucky interrupts. “Please do not bring Steve into this conversation. I have zero interest in your sex lives.”

“Oh, like you and Barton are any better? You think any of us wanna hear you molesting each other in the Quinjet after missions?”

“That’s celebration sex,” Clint says. “We’re just happy to be alive, you can’t take that from us—“

“This last one was a diplomatic mission! We didn’t even bring weapons!”

“You didn’t,” Bucky says. “I did.”

“Never know when bloodsucking vampire monsters will show up,” Clint agrees.

“They were politicians!”

“Exactly,” Bucky says, and Clint bursts out laughing.

Tony mutters something about them being impossible, and leaves. Clint flops onto the couch and sprawls on top of Bucky.

“So,” he says, turning himself so his head and shoulders are in Bucky’s lap. “Candles?”

“For me or for you?”

“I think I’d like it better,” Clint says thoughtfully. “We can try it on you, but it’s a temperature thing and that didn’t go so well last time.”

“Ah,” Bucky says, chest tightening. “Good point.”

“I’ll order some,” Clint says. “And we can experiment. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds like fun,” Bucky says. “When?”

“A week? I’ll order and let you know. We can block some time, make a day to hang out.”

Bucky leans down and kisses him. “What did I do to end up with someone like you, huh?”

“Either something good or something terrible,” Clint says, picking up his phone.

“Definitely good,” Bucky says, and his heart warms at the little smile that moves across Clint’s face.

* * *

Ten days later, Bucky walks into the tower cranky as hell from the sheer amount of bullshit he just had to sit through. He storms out of the elevator and into the lounge, then stops dead as Clint holds up a package.

“You look pissed,” he says. “Meetings again?”

“Every goddamn day I’m tempted to burn it all and go rogue,” Bucky says, but the anger is melting away by the second. Clint does that to him, somehow. He doesn’t even have to say anything most days. He just smiles that crooked grin that Bucky loves so much, and suddenly the world seems to tilt back into place. “Is that for me?”

“One package for you,” Clint says, holding it out to him. “Comes with a mildly irritating archer attached to it.”

“That’s the best part,” Bucky says, pulling him in for a kiss, and Clint smiles against him. “So. Candles?”

“Candles,” Clint confirms. “I already opened it. They’re nice.”

“Cool. We doing this now?”

“Why, you got other plans? If you feel un-romanced, I can take you to dinner—“

Bucky snorts and picks him up, something that always amuses him, mostly because Clint makes an adorable little yelping noise every time he does it. “Now is good. Now is great, actually.”

“This is unfair,” Clint says, squirming on his shoulder as they go into the elevator. “I’m six foot three, you should not be able to just _manhandle_ me like this.”

“I can, and I’m going to.” Bucky pats his ass. “You’re taller, I’m stronger and a better shot. We all have our things.”

Clint makes an outraged noise. “I’m the best shot on this team, excuse you—”

Bucky laughs. “I’m just riling you up,” he says as the doors open. “We all know you’re the best shot. Most days.”

“Fuck you,” Clint says, poking him in the ribs. “See if I ever save your ass on a mission again.”

“You will.”

“Will not. No more last minute dramatic rescues for you.”

“Uh-huh.” Bucky dumps him on the bed. “Well. We’ll see what tune you’re singing after this.”

“So confident you’re gonna blow my mind, huh?”

“Don’t I always?”

Clint grins. “Really confident,” he says. “I like that in a man.”

“Good. Clothes off.”

“Bossy.” Clint strips off his shirt. “I like that too. Am I gonna be the only one getting naked here?”

“For now.”

“Okay.” Clint points at the box. “Wanna try the candles before we get too wild? I can show you how to use ‘em.”

“Oh.” Bucky looks at it. “Yeah, I guess that would be good.”

“They’re real easy.” Clint opens the top, pulling out five white candles of varying sizes. “Light it, let it burn and melt a little, then drip it, don’t pour. The wax will cool a bit as it falls. You’re not gonna burn me, but it’s better to have it higher up.”

“You sure it’s not going to burn you?”

“Yeah.” Clint digs around in the nightstand and pulls out a lighter, then lights the biggest candle. “It’s body safe, I checked. Here.” He lets the wax pool a little, then drips a bit on his own arm before blowing the candle out and setting it aside. “See?”

“That feels good?” Bucky asks, watching the way his eyelashes flutter at the sensation.

Clint nods. “Yeah,” he says, his voice already a little breathy. “Feels—feels real good.”

“Okay.” Bucky takes his arm, inspecting the wax dripping. “That doesn’t look too hard.”

“Usual rules,” Clint says. “Safe words and all that. Check in like you always do.” He picks at the wax on his arm, wincing. “Ow. Arm hair.”

“That’s how it comes off?”

Clint nods again. “Can pick it off,” he says. “Or scrape it—it’s pretty soft. I once did this with a chick who used an actual knife. It was both hot and terrifying.”

Bucky shoves down the flash of jealousy he feels. “That something you like?”

“Eh.” Clint shrugs. “Didn’t hate it. But I want you to be comfortable.”

“I’m good with knives,” Bucky says.

“I know you are.” Clint leans forward and kisses him. “Let’s start with the candles and go from there, alright?” He gets off the bed and goes into the closet. “Are you okay with tying me to the bed? I like that, with this kinda thing.”

Bucky nods. “I’m always okay with tying you to the bed.”

“I like asking.” Clint pokes his head out. “Ropes or handcuffs?”

“Depends, you want reminders?”

Clint nods.

“Ropes, then. The purple ones. You mark up better with that.” Bucky doesn’t know what it is about bruises and marks that Clint likes so much, but he’s made his peace with it. And to some extent, he’s come to like them too. Likes the little thrill in his stomach when he sees them a day or two later, likes the memories that come along with touching them.

“Got it,” Clint says, coming back out with an armful of rope and no pants.

Bucky stifles a snort and gets off the bed. “Okay. Get comfortable.”

Clint hands him the rope, then sprawls onto the bed, offering up a wrist. Bucky takes it, carefully tying the rope around him—tight enough to leave marks, loose enough to keep him comfortable. He prefers the ropes to the handcuffs; there’s something about tying them that just helps settle him into the moment.

He gets both wrists secured to the bed, then steps back. “Color?”

“Green.”

“Legs too?”

“No, this is good.” Clint tugs on the ropes a little, then looks at Bucky. “Okay. Your color?”

“I’m green,” Bucky says, stepping back to admire. He runs his hand over Clint’s back, watching the way his muscles twitch. “You look pretty like this.”

“You always say that.”

“You always look pretty.” Bucky smooths his hand over the warm skin again, half-massaging, half-caressing. Clint goes boneless under him with a contented moan. “You like this?”

“No, I hate it,” Clint says. “That’s why I’m laying here making happy noises.”

Bucky snickers. “Brat.”

“Uh-huh.” Clint smiles lazily, eyes closed.

Bucky trails his fingers up Clint’s spine one more time, then leans over and picks up the candle, hesitating slightly. “You’ll tell me—”

“Yes,” Clint says, wriggling a little. “I promise, Bucky. I’m okay. It’s green.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, lighting the candle. He lets the wax melt, lets it pool a little, then tips the candle like Clint did, letting it drip onto his right shoulder.

Clint makes a low noise when it lands, and his fingers clench slightly. “Oh,” he says, the sound easing out of him.

“Color?”

“Green.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, and he does it again, the other shoulder this time. Clint moans again, rolling his shoulder. “And that?”

“Still green.” Clint turns to look at him. “I’ll tell you if it’s yellow; you don’t have to ask after every time.” He pauses, then says, “Unless you need to. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—”

“It’s okay,” Bucky says, putting a hand on his spine. “I hear what you’re saying.”

Clint offers a soft smile, then closes his eyes again. “Love you,” he murmurs, so quiet that Bucky’s barely even sure he heard it.

It’s not a phrase Clint uses often. He’ll respond in kind if Bucky says it, but he prefers actions over words, prefers touch to murmured assurances. Bucky learned early on to _show_ his feelings instead of telling—bringing Clint coffee, or letting him sleep in, or kidnapping him after missions for pizza dates.

But that just means it’s all the more important when he does say it. So Bucky leans down and presses a soft kiss to his head, and whispers, “Love you too, doll.”

He keeps going with the wax, experimenting on heights and places to see what reaction it gets. He didn’t expect to like this so much, but there’s something about the _noises_ Clint is making, and the way he stretches and squirms as each drip hits his skin.

Clint almost seems to drift—not quite subspace, Bucky thinks, but maybe something close. He checks in every few minutes, happy with the mumbled “green” he gets in response. There’s a content look on Clint’s face, and Bucky commits the sight to memory.

Finally, he runs out of skin to cover. There’s white wax everywhere, opaque lines covering every single inch of Clint’s skin. They’ve rolled down his side, too, following the curve of his ribs.

“Okay,” Bucky says, and blows the candle out, setting it to the side. “How you feeling?”

“Mmm.” Clint rolls his shoulders in a way that _shouldn’t_ be sexy, but totally is. “Good. Real good.”

“I’m gonna take it off now,” Bucky warns him, and carefully picks at a spot with his right hand. The wax comes up easily, and Bucky rolls it between his fingers, feeling the softness of it. “Color?”

“Green,” Clint slurs, rolling his shoulders again. Bucky picks off more, and Clint makes a high-pitched noise, shivering under his touch. “God, Bucky—”

“Sensitive?”

“Yeah.” Clint blinks slowly and looks up at Bucky, pupils blown wide. “Feels good, though.”

“Good,” Bucky says, picking off more. The skin underneath is reddened and warm to the touch. Bucky presses on it, then gently scratches with a fingernail.

Clint makes another high-pitched noise at that, pulling at the ropes. “Green,” he says before Bucky can ask. “Green, oh my _god_ —”

“What does that feel like?” Bucky asks, curious more than anything.

“Hard to describe,” Clint manages. “Doesn’t hurt—but it does? Like a bruise.”

“Bruises hurt.”

“The good kind.” Clint pulls at his wrists. “Feels like this.”

“Ah.” Bucky keeps picking it off, occasionally scraping his fingernails over the sensitive skin, just to watch the way Clint writhes underneath him. “You like it?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Good.” Bucky scrapes the last of it off, then rubs a firm hand up Clint’s back. “I like it too,” he says. “I like the sounds you make.” He digs his thumbnail in, grinning at the little shriek it gets him. “Like that.”

“Fuck,” Clint breathes. “Oh— _Bucky_ —”

“Right here, doll,” Bucky murmurs, trailing biting kisses up the heated line of his spine. “Can I fuck you?”

“Please,” Clint murmurs, arching his back. It’s a subtle motion, but it has the usual effect, which is to turn Bucky on so much that he can barely see straight. He has to pause for a moment, take a deep breath—fuck, he’s not even _naked_ , he still has to get his clothes off—

He fumbles at them, yanking them off. Clint grins and mumbles something about planning ahead. “Brat,” Bucky says, swatting him on the ass. He’d been less liberal with the wax there, but judging from the shriek and the “Fuck!” it gets him, less wax doesn’t mean less sensitive. Bucky rubs a soothing hand over the mark, then leans over him, patting around in the nightstand for the lube.

He takes his time about it, sliding his metal fingers into Clint and fucking him like they’ve got all the time in the world—which they kind of do, but this is more about watching him go to pieces than anything else. Bucky uses his other hand to trace fingernails in patterns over Clint’s back, smiling slyly as Clint writhes and shivers under his touch.

Finally, he leans over, mouth close to Clint’s ear. “Think you’re ready?”

“Fuck you, I’ve been ready for- _ohhh_ —”

“You talk too much,” Bucky says, settling his hips against Clint’s ass, closing his eyes for a moment at the tight warmth around him. “Fuck, I missed this.”

“It’s been like...three days,” Clint says, amusement mixing with the arousal.

“Yeah, and I missed it.” Bucky rubs a thumb where Clint is stretched out around his dick, and smiles at the hitched moan it gets. “Should just keep you in bed forever, really.”

“I think Steve wouldn’t like that.”

“Who cares what Steve wants?”

“Mm, that’s true.” Clint tightens around him, making Bucky see stars. “You gonna fuck me, or you just gonna sit there and admire the view?”

“Yes.”

Clint laughs. “That wasn’t an answer.”

“Sure it was.” Bucky traces his fingernails down Clint’s back, watching with amusement as Clint shivers and mutters curses into the sheet. “I’m doing both.”

But he can’t take it much longer either, so he starts moving. He keeps it slow, less about chasing an end goal and more about being _together_. There was an intimacy to the candle, a quiet steadiness that Bucky doesn’t want to lose. And Clint seems to like this too, judging from the way he’s twisting against the ropes, pushing back into Bucky.

Bucky leaves biting kisses on his shoulders, scraping his teeth over reddened skin, then props himself up on one hand and slides the other underneath, wrapping it around Clint’s dick. “This what you want?”

“Want you,” Clint says, propping himself up as much as he can. “Always want you.”

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs. “You got me, doll. Forever.”

It’s overly romantic, and a little sappy, but it’s worth it for the expression that crosses Clint’s face. He still doesn’t believe it, sometimes, that Bucky’s here to stay, and so Bucky makes a point to demonstrate it where he can—with his actions _and_ his words.

He shows it now, moving his hand over Clint’s wrist and pressing down over the ropes, an extra reminder. _I’m here. I’m not leaving_. And it must push the right buttons, that little extra pressure, because Clint tenses underneath him, eyes closing and mouth opening in a silent gasp as he comes. It doesn’t take Bucky long after that, and he falls forward, just barely managing to catch himself. His chest presses against Clint’s back, warm skin against him, and Clint lets out a low groan, the sound of it loud in the sudden silence of the room.

They stay like that for an indeterminate amount of time, letting their heart rates return to normal, letting their breathing settle. Bucky rubs his fingers over the ropes, feeling the smooth fibers, double-checking to make sure Clint didn’t pull them too tight.

“Color,” he says eventually.

“Green,” Clint murmurs. “Shamrock, chartreuse, emerald.”

Bucky snorts. “Just green is fine, darlin’.”

“Mm. You?”

“Green.” Bucky kisses the back of his neck, then slowly pulls out, smiling a little as Clint whines in protest. “I’m just gonna get something, okay?” Clint nods, and Bucky pads into the bathroom, coming back with a bottle of lotion. “I read about this, he says, getting back onto the bed. “Moisturizing cream with aloe. Supposed to be good for you after this kinda thing.”

Clint nods again. “Smart,” he mumbles, turning his face down.

“Internet is very useful,” Bucky says.

Clint snickers into the sheets. “You sound like Steve.”

“We need to quit bringing him up when we’re both naked,” Bucky says, and Clint outright laughs at that, shoulders shaking.

“You got a point,” he finally says, then moans as Bucky starts rubbing the lotion into his skin. “Ohh. Yeah. Internet is very useful. Okay.”

“This is good?”

“This is great,” Clint says, the words slurred. “We can stay here forever, like you said.”

Bucky thinks about the sheer amount of meetings he had to go to today, and nods. “I’m in. SHIELD can do their own damn thing.”

Clint smiles sleepily at him. Bucky finishes rubbing the lotion on his back, then frees Clint’s right wrist, examining the marks before pressing a soft kiss to the inside of it. “Feel okay?” he asks, reaching over to untie the other. “I think they might’ve been a little tight.”

“They’re fine,” Clint says, rolling onto his side. “I don’t mind. I like it.”

“I know you do.” Bucky smiles down at him. “Looks good on you. Prefer that over these.” He presses slightly on Clint’s hip, where there’s a green-mottled bruise from one of their recent missions. “You hurt yourself too much.”

“You say that like I do it on purpose.”

“You do, sometimes.”

Clint grins. “Do not.”

“You shot targets from the top of a moving car because you, and I quote, ‘ _thought it would look cooler, Bucky.’”_

“And it did. It looked totally badass.”

“And then you fell off.”

The grin gets wider. “Nat took a sharp turn, blame her.”

“Nat wasn’t the one standing on the roof of a moving car.”

“I needed the best vantage point!”

“Then that should’ve been your first argument, doll. Not _‘I thought it would be cooler._ ’”

“I feel like that gives me points in the overly dramatic category, not the ‘I’m trying to get myself injured’ one.”

Bucky considers, then says, “Both. You’re overly dramatic _and_ you hurt yourself too much.”

“Fair,” Clint says, and tugs him down for a kiss. “If I promise to be more careful, can we stop talking about this and order pizza?”

“Sure,” Bucky agrees. “Gonna hold you to that.”

“Okay.” Clint reaches for his phone, then pauses and takes Bucky’s hand instead. “I’m really not trying to,” he says. “To hurt myself, I mean. I know I do stupid shit sometimes, but this—you and me—this is important. I have something to come back to.”

He can’t quite meet Bucky’s eyes as he says it, focusing instead on swiping his thumb repeatedly over Bucky’s knuckles. It makes Bucky melt just a little, a tension he didn’t even know was there slowly easing out of him.

“I know,” he says, tilting Clint’s chin up. “And I know I’m...hovering. You’re smart, and you’re talented as hell, and you _definitely_ looked badass when you were shooting moving targets while balancing on a moving vehicle.” Clint smiles broadly at that, eyes lighting up, and Bucky grins back. “I’ll ease up a little. I just like you safe.”

“Yeah,” Clint says, shrugging. “Well. We can both probably try a little harder.”

“Deal,” Bucky says, and kisses him. “Pizza?”

“Pizza,” Clint agrees happily, and he picks up his phone. “Can we—“

“No.”

“But you didn’t even—”

“No.”

“Oh, come on—”

“If you order pineapples, I am tying you to this bed again.”

Clint laughs. “Is that supposed to be a threat?”

“It can be,” Bucky says. “I got all kinds of things I wanna do to you. You might not like all of them.” He lowers his voice, makes his posture a little more threatening. Watches the way Clint’s breath hitches, the way his thumbs stutter for a second as they type.

“Promises, promises,” Clint says after a moment, clearly aiming for bravado, and he tosses his phone aside. “I ordered two. They both have pineapples.” He grins and flops back on the bed, throwing his arms out wide. “Do your worst.”

“You’re gonna regret that,” Bucky says, picking up the rope. “How long until they get here?”

“Thirty-six minutes,” Clint says without hesitation. “I have the delivery guy well trained.”

“Plenty of time, then.” Bucky crooks a finger, and Clint sits up, crawling over the bed to him.

“Plenty of time for what?” he asks.

Bucky shrugs. “You’ll see,” he says. “Green?”

“Green,” Clint confirms. “Whatever you got for me, I want it.”

“We’ll see if you’re still saying that in thirty-six minutes,” Bucky says. “Arms.”

Clint offers them up. “Challenge accepted,” he says, a mischievous look in his eyes, face so full of life and happiness that Bucky just has to kiss him.

“Love you,” Bucky says when he pulls back, and he starts to wind the ropes around Clint’s arms.

“Yeah,” Clint says, flashing that crooked grin that Bucky adores so much. “Love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr!](https://feedmecookiesnow.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Bêta'ed as always by the lovely [clintscoffeepot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clintscoffeepot/pseuds/clintscoffeepot). Thank you!


End file.
